


the world throws its light underneath your hair

by hesperides



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sad makeouts, self-sabotage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-25 20:32:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16205132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesperides/pseuds/hesperides
Summary: No. Leo wouldn’t know. Leo doesn’t think like that. Leo doesn’t immediately assume the worst of everyone, doesn’t see the world as one disappointment after another.Leo isn’t like him.





	the world throws its light underneath your hair

He can hear the uneven rhythm coming from behind the door before he opens it. The archery building is deserted, just as it has been for the last few weeks, since he and Keito have started thinning the herd. There’s none of the raucous laughter echoing down the length of the hall tonight, no scattered debris from discarded snack bags or empty cans of illegal obtained chuhai littering the floor. Not that Madara can see very far ahead of him to thoroughly, with the lights left off like this. Good thing he only knows one person crazy enough to practice archery by starlight alone.

 

“Leo-san! You know what they say about reading in the dark,” his phone flashlight flicks on as he calls out to his friend, illuminating the long room and revealing Leo where he stands at the end of it, slender shoulders drawn as taught as the string of his bow in his hand. There’s that split second where his form is perfect, a far cry from the usual carefree slouch that gets on Keito’s nerves, the fletching of his arrow just barely brushing against his cheek— and the next moment it’s gone, a sloppy grin cracking his serene expression, arms shooting up the air to signal a greeting.

 

“Mikejimama! Did you come to practice too?” Leo says, nearly crows, letting the bow and arrow fall from his hands and clatter to the lacquered floor. It sounds louder than it is, to Madara’s ears, a thunderclap that draws his attention away for long enough that he misses the beginning of Leo’s long jump, running down to the entrance where Madara still stands to dive directly at him.

 

That’s been becoming more of a problem, lately. Paying attention to the little things people do, not just to get a read on them, but because he’s become attached to the person doing it.

 

Madara scoops Leo up, shoving his phone back into his pocket before he has to move his hands to catch him under his shoulders, just before his skull makes impact with his chest. He lifts Leo up into the air, hefting his weight up easily and spinning them both around with one full rotation on his heel. For all the effort it takes him to do, Madara might as well be tossing up a doll.

 

“I already got in plenty of practice last year, Leo-san,” he had added it to his ever-widening list of arts mastered and dropped to the side sometime over that summer break, if his memory serves him. “I came to see you, of course!”

 

“Waaah, just for me? That’s great, that’s great!” Leo echoes every last ounce of the cheer in his friend’s voice, trying to match him in volume line for line. “I had something I needed to ask Mama anyway, so this saves me a whole trip! Thank you!”

 

There’s a strange kind of comfort at not automatically being the loudest one in the room. With Leo there’s no need for him to dominate the conversation by virtue of his overwhelming presence, to drown out the competition’s will with his voice. Leo’s only ever taken it as a challenge, and it’s one Madara lets him win, every time.

 

“My sixth sense was telling me you needed something, so I came over right away. Hold on, I’m sitting down,” is what he says, as if he’s not already drawing up a carefully plotted chart of what Leo’s next movements will be. Drop one knee down to the floor, and he’ll try to throw his back down against it— Madara almost thinks that Leo likes making him scramble to keep him from any serious head trauma. It’s a bigger almost than usual tonight, with the way Leo’s eyes are shining wild in every small glimmer of residual light they catch.

 

He’s expecting a reverse swan dive when he starts to kneel down, already knows at what point he’ll have to stop and shoot one of his hands out to cushion the back of Leo’s skull from the lacquered floor, probably bruising his knuckles in the process, a calculated loss for the greater win. Madara’s course is planned and set and there’s nothing left for him to do but wait, build his expectation and have it all thrown to the wayside when Leo finally does move, in the opposite direction.

 

Leo surges forward, his arms locking around Madara’s neck in a tight hug, the force his body should be able to muster somehow becoming great enough to bowl them over. Madara’s back hits the floor with a muffled thump, laid out flat against it with Leo on top of him, his face hidden where he’s pressed it against the side of his neck. Madara can feel the warm flush of air against his skin with each breath Leo takes, how hard his heart is pounding where their chests are crushed together. He swears he can hear Leo’s bones creak, in the arm that’s still bearing fresh scars from surgical incisions, straining with each tiny twitch of his muscles, and Madara knows he’s imagining at least that much, but a sense of panic still gnaws in the pit of his stomach.

 

“Mama,” Leo says, voice barely above a whisper, and Madara suddenly feels more vulnerable now than he ever has in a back alley fist fight. “Come perform with me?”

 

“Of course! Anything Leo-san wants,” Madara doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. He doesn’t trip over his words, too many years of practicing his wide smiles and sunny intonation for that, and he likes to think that the flustered pause between his agreement and his question is too brief for Leo to be able to notice. “What live is this for?”

 

“Checkmate,” Leo’s suddenly sitting upright again, pushing himself up with his hands on Madara’s shoulders, looking down on him with a manic kind of glee in his eye that manages to glow even in the darkness in the unlit hall. “That’s what I’m calling it, you know? Doesn’t it sound good? Like a book, or maybe an action movie, it’ll look great on the flyers, don’t you think?”

 

It does sound good— Madara wouldn’t expect anything less from Leo, a prodigy who knows how to both create and market his music. It’s a clever name, the subtext for event laid clear while still sounding catchy, tieing in perfectly to the theme of Leo’s newly minted unit. Under any other circumstances, Madara would feel nothing but joy from being asked to act as an ensemble member for one of Leo’s lives. He wants to feel it now, let that novel emotion of tenderness that being around Leo usually gives him soak into his skin, and push the sense of looming dread that’s growing inside of him as far away as possible. He wishes, not for the first time, that he couldn’t lie to anyone except himself.

 

“If Leo-san picked it, it’s definitely going to be perfect,” he says, allowing himself the luxury of a breath before throwing away his last chance to play ignorant. “It’s for Chess, isn’t it?”

 

That’s why he had come here in the first place. Ever since Leo had asked him to gather up the contact information of the leaders for the new units that had sprung up from the remnants of Chess’ shattering, Madara has noticed the changes in Leo’s behavior. The back to back, nearly constant schedule of Dreamfes performances have consumed nearly all of Leo’s time, his usually lackadaisical approach to school and ranking system replaced with something else, an unfamiliar drive that’s set Leo neatly atop of pile of casualties rendered broken by his own hands. It’s not like him. It’s too close to a mirror of what Madara’s doing in his down time, and that’s a place he never wants Leo to go.

 

“That’s right. They’re still so big, I figured a live against them needed a big flashy name, you know? A super big ‘pow’ that will catch people’s attention, and get the audience excited,” Leo’s head bobs enthusiastically as he speaks, still straddling Madara’s waist with a level of unabashed comfort that no one else could pull off. “We’re enemies now, you know? So there’s no reason to be sad about tearing them apart! It’ll be a piece of cake if Mikejimama is helping, and I can ask Tenshi too,”

 

He can feel his stomach slowly bottoming out as Leo continues on, watching the way his eyes go distant and glassy as the rest of his body keeps up its usual animated movements, the frozen expression of a puppet being pulled helplessly along by a web of invisible strings. Madara’s voice seems stuck in his throat, the acknowledgment of his own hypocrisy holding him back from openly wincing every time a word like  _ crush, kill, slaughter _ falls from Leo’s lips. He’s done all that and worse, hasn’t he? He’s even done it in Leo’s name, can still see tinges of red at the edge of his vision every time he recalls the lurid memory of finding Leo flat on the ground with blood soaking into the starched white of his uniform shirt. There’s a list of boys who will never be able to dance or run like they could before because they pushed someone smaller and more precious than them until he fell from a dangerous height, and yet the thought of Leo being so much as adjacent to his own behavior makes Madara feel acutely ill.

 

“Leo-san, you know Mama will help you whenever you need it. I’ll do whatever you want, no matter what you ask,” Madara speaks carefully, making sure to not let anything as inconvenient as a stray emotion slip through. “Are you sure this is what you want? You’ve been friends with the guys in Chess since first year.”

 

Leo’s face doesn’t fall, but he looks like he desperately wants to let it, and Madara doesn’t know which is worse.

 

“No … that’s not right. Or more like, it was never right?” he trails of into awkward laughter, his fingers tapping nervously against Madara’s shoulder where his hand still rests. “I was really stupid, so stupid. Sena and Tenshi were right the whole time.”

 

“How do you mean?”

 

“They gave me the same answer as everyone else,” Leo says, his eyes drifting to the side, breaking away from Madara’s gaze as his smile stays uncannily fixed in place, painted on. “I wanted to know if we were really friends. I tracked down all the guys Mama told me about and let them choose, between me and my music. I said I’d let them use whatever stuff I had written, but we’d become enemies then. All they had to do to stay friends was not use my music and, you know, they all picked the same thing? It was easy, that easy for them to throw me away, even Chess.”

 

Madara tastes bile in his mouth. It’s coming back again, that anger, the poisonous instinct that makes him want to snap something in half. What Leo was saying wasn’t any news to him— it was just as clear to him as it had been to Sena Izumi and Tenshouin Eichi that the current and former members of Chess were only ever using Leo as a free source of professional quality songs. All but a few of them were the usual variety of Yumenosaki scumbag, happy to coast along on the schools generous resources, and unsurprisingly saw Leo as little more than another way to keep their free ride nice and smooth. 

 

He knew that.  _ Everyone _ with half a brain knew that. Part of him is almost sure Leo did too, had to have, but then again, Leo’s not like him. Leo who acts like some fairytale knight whenever his little sister is within hearing range, Leo who steals Keito’s glasses but listens to his rambling opinion on the latest chapter of some convoluted seinen manga, Leo who snatches leftovers from the cafeteria to take out to the pregnant cats that nap around the garden, Leo who tells anyone who shows him the simplest kindness that he loves them with total sincerity—

 

No. Leo wouldn’t know. Leo doesn’t think like that. Leo doesn’t immediately assume the worst of everyone, doesn’t see the world as one disappointment after another.

 

Leo isn’t like him.

 

“It’ll be a hassle to perform on a stage with Chess, won’t it? They’ve still got a lot of members who haven’t left for a new group,” Madara’s not sure where he’s going with this, even as the words tumble out of his mouth. All he knows is that something is distinctly off with the way Leo’s acting, and a nagging instinct tells him that if the live goes through as planned tomorrow, something will break.

 

“What if they forfeited before the performance starts?”

 

It’s the wrong thing to say. He can tell, because there’s no expression of relief on Leo’s face, just a quiet kind of anxiety in his eyes that makes his uneasiness that much clearer. Madara’s always saying the wrong thing to Leo, all his talent at misdirecting and manipulating a conversation rendered useless when all he finally finds someone worth being kind to.

 

“Do you really think they’d go for that? No, Mama’s probably right, they definitely would! This is all meaningless to them anyway, like some boring game, for boring people, who don’t care whether they win or lose,” Leo sways gently where he sits, like a light gust of wind might be enough to send him tumbling over. “That’s a great idea. Of course Mama would come up with a great idea like that! I’m so thankful, from the bottom of my heart, that I have a friend as smart as you. Chess doesn’t deserve to stand on the same stage as you and Sena.”

 

“Leo-san—” wrong, wrong, wrong. Why did he even come here in the first place? What did he think he’d see, if not Leo on the verge of something terrible that he’s not good or gentle enough to pull him away from.

 

“If they’re not there, you don’t have to worry about anything with the performance. I’ll make sure to take care of it, so all you have to do is focus on putting on the best show that you can, doing something the fans will love. Just having a good time with everyone during the performance.”

 

Leo blinks, staring down at Madara for a few long seconds, his eyes wide and expression blank, almost as if he’s just been given detailed instructions in a language he doesn’t understand. A beat passes, then two, and then there’s a smile breaking out on his face, his well worn look of excitement, with only minimal fatigue showing through to the surface. He lets his body fall down, right on top of Madara, so he’s pressed chest to chest with him again, allowing that unfamiliar feeling of bubbling heat to return, rising up through his stomach and ribs to settle under his skin. 

 

“That’s right, that’s right! It’ll be way better like this, with just us. We’ll definitely have a good time!” Leo’s chin is resting on the edge of Madara’s collarbone, and while there’s no next to no light in the archery hall now, with his phone flashlight hidden in his pants, he swears that Leo’s eyes are greener than he’s ever seen them.

 

“Mama, I love you!”

 

_ Ah, _ he thinks, as his world narrows down to Leo’s fragile thread of possible happiness,  _ I’m in danger. _

 

Why that thought is the first thing that comes into his head, he can’t exactly say, at least not until he notices Leo’s expression quietly sober. It’s the only warning he gets before the other is lunging forward, closing the remaining distance between the two of them and pressing their lips together.

 

In the dark, time seems to stop. Madara knows it hasn’t, not really, as even the dangerously hazy dreamland of Yumenosaki can’t void laws of nature. Leo’s breath is still rising and falling in his small, breakable body, milliseconds freely ticking by while Madara remains frozen for a reason he can’t quite grasp. It feels like a small eternity for his synapses to finish their round of reactionary firing, long enough for him to inhale the scent of Leo’s shampoo (it’s soft and powdery, he probably used Ruka’s again), before his brain provides the obvious answer; 

 

_ You’ve wanted this. _

 

His hand comes up to gently cradle the back of Leo’s head, an unconscious movement guided by muscle memory, and isn’t that telling? That this kind of intimacy isn’t so far off from how Madara usually handles him? Leo’s never been shy about expressing skinship, practically crawls on top of him any chance he gets, presses torn notebook pages against the expanse of Madara’s chest to use as an impromptu desk when inspiration strikes him without a hint of shame.

 

And Madara likes it— he likes that Leo will grab his hands thoughtlessly to pull him where he wants to go, as if there’s nothing to be feared from them, like Madara’s fists have never been bloodied and raw and the exacting tools to bring about someone else’s pain.

 

Leo sighs out a soft breath, tickling Madara’s skin as he tilts his head up further, and he’s pretty sure his vision whites out when he feels Leo’s tongue swipe out against his lips, quick and kittenish. The temptation to forget everything else and open his mouth to him, to put his other hand on the small of Leo’s back and pull him closer, to drown all his thoughts out in the feeling of him, is so strong it sets his skin alight. It would easy, to give in to this, to let Leo act on a heinously misguided impulse, and with the hand cupping the back of Leo’s head, Madara’s already halfway there.

 

He breaks the kiss when he rolls them both onto their sides, careful not to jostle Leo too much. Their faces are still close enough that Madara can see Leo’s expression of surprise in the dark, his eyes wide and blinking rapidly in surprise.

 

“Mama—”

 

“It’s getting really late, isn’t it? It’s not good for kids to stay up too long after their bedtimes, a full night’s rest is vital for any growing boy!” that’s right, smother any other line of conversation in the cradle before it has a chance to make a scene. “Mama will walk you to the station, so let’s clean up here and get on the road, alright?”

 

Leo’s face shifts into something hard to place, and Madara can’t help but think that for once, he’s better off not trying to read it.

 

_ You’ve wanted this.  _ He can acknowledge that now, and make an important addition. 

 

_ You’ve wanted this, and you know you can’t have it. _

 

The smile he flashes Leo as an attempt to be reassuring seems faker than usual, and he tries not to linger too long before getting them both sitting up and moving a safe distance away. Leo’s brow furrows, clearly still considering the sudden change in positions, but doesn’t resist when Madara sets him on his feet and goes to pick up his discarded bow. That’s fine, he tells himself, if Leo doesn’t quite get it yet. He’s drunk on sorrow and abandonment, behaving erratically and doing things he doesn’t mean. He can think about it later, maybe tomorrow, surrounded by his thrown-together unit of boys playing at chivalry, who are at least still putting in the token effort to act good and just. They’re better suited to be companions for Leo, better than someone who’s long since given up.

 

By the time he’s put the equipment away and turns back to face Leo, he’s still sitting on the floor, looking up at Madara with his head cocked slightly to the side.

 

“Mama, help me up?” 

 

He must be more frazzled than he initially thought, because as soon as Leo reaches a hand up, green eyes soft and guileless, Madara’s immediately crossing the gap between them to lift Leo to his feet. So much for keeping his distance, he thinks, and can hardly muster the energy to be surprised when Leo uses the momentum to push forward and cling to him once he’s off the ground, arms circling around Madara’s chest, making it difficult for him to back off again.

 

“You’ve gotta come tomorrow, Mikejimama. My composition needs your voice to become the blade that I need, to cut clean through to the hearts of the fans. I’ve had my vision planned for eternity, almost three days!”

 

Madara wants to turn away. He can’t tell if this is better or worse than Leo asking about the kiss, knows it probably doesn’t matter, his fate already sealed years ago.

 

“Leo-kun’s songs are too pretty for someone with my image to sing, don’t you think?” he can see downward turn of Leo’s lips, but doesn’t give him a chance to interrupt, to let a comforting lie taint his mouth. “Mama will be there, of course! I’d never turn down an invitation from my friend.”

 

Unless it’s too much, unless it’s too close, unless it risks the chance of blackening Leo with the parts of him that need to be shut away. Leo means all the things he writes in his songs, and Madara barely means half of the things he says— Leo’s music doesn’t need to be associated with someone like that.

 

Leo clearly hesitates, and for a second Madara’s worried that he might push the issue. He looks like he wants to, but it passes quickly enough. He’s breaking away a second later, thankfully, his hands only lingering long enough for Madara to safely be able to dismiss it as his imagination.

 

“Let’s meet up tomorrow before we go talk to Chess— Mama should bring his bike and make a super cool entrance, like a mysterious hero from a drama!” Leo’s arms swing, childlike, as he starts toward the door, Madara falling into step quickly and silently behind him. “And Mama?”

 

“Hmmm?”

 

He chooses that moment to stop mid-stride and turn, looking up at Madara with an exacting kind of intensity he’s rarely seen with.

 

“We’re friends. I love you.”

 

Madara just laughs, showing off a broad smile and nodding enthusiastically.

 

_ I know. You shouldn’t. _

**Author's Note:**

> if u want to hear me sing to a single pea or only listen to the mountain goats im still @celestialdial


End file.
